Serious
by absencexofxlight
Summary: A quiet day at 221B for John changes everything. John takes a drug and Sherlock is really disappointed. This is when the matter of when it's the right time to be serious and when it's the right time to play, is cleared up.
1. Giving Up Control

Hello! My note to you: I honestly don't really know about how methamphetamine is like, and I have never done it. This is all from research online. Also, this chapter is a bit short because it's fairly late and my mind is becoming poop. I don't have John acting normal because obviously he is under the influence of a drug. I always see fics with Sherlock using, but not John. Also, I'm not from England or anything, so I could get different terms wrong.

I hope the fic is okay! It will have more chapters obviously.

Okay, another thing. I put this up previously but then I took it off and this is the newer one which I have added and edited things from.

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**Chapter One**

It's ten in the morning, a Saturday. 221B is quiet. It's so quiet, that John almost wants to start screaming manically. There hasn't been a case in about two and a half weeks. Life is _dull._ He laughs at himself. He's starting to think like Sherlock. Sherlock had left, early in the morning, without a word. John doesn't know where he went. Sherlock always runs off.

He envies Sherlock. Envy is not a pretty thing, and John knows. Sherlock is brilliant, and lovely, and wonderful, and all these amazing things. He laughs again. It's just so dull. He wants excitement and he wants confidence. He wants to be out and about with Sherlock, on a fascinating case, chasing after another criminal.

John is a doctor. He _knows_.

John sits on his bed, his legs crossed like in kindergarten. The door is closed, and he is extremely grateful that Sherlock has gone out. In his palm, lies a crystal of methamphetamine. He stares for a while. A long while. John knows even though he doesn't want to know. He knows that if he injects himself there could be many possible consequences. He knows that he could become addicted very quickly. He knows he could lose his job if anyone found out what he did. But, he feels the need to push away the cloud of worry that is floating over him.

This feels like a test. A test that he could never know what grade he got. It is all a matter of what is right and wrong in this situation. It isn't a logic problem, or maybe at some point it is. It is more of a judgement thing. But Sherlock would always disregard these sort of principles anyways, often hurting people along the way. He is never delicate with things. John forgave him, the same way that he could be forgiven himself.

Then he just does it without thinking. His mind is completely blank as he dilutes the crystal in pure water. He blocks out any thoughts about consequences, and replaces his mind with anticipation. What exactly would he feel? How great would it be? With his thoughts clear and his mind alert, what magical things would he come up with? He was_ insane_. John Watson would never shoot up a dangerous and not to mention illegal drug while sitting cross-legged on his bed at 221B, with the possibility of Sherlock Holmes walking in and possibly forming a fiasco, and with the knowledge of all the consequences that came along with this horrid act. He would _never._

But he _did_.

He fills the syringe with the substance, and his medical training comes oh so handy when he finds an adequate vein to inject himself in. He pierces his skin with the needle, and pushes down the plunger. It's immediate. The rush is _amazing_. It's unexplainable. John feels just so alive. His heart races, and he just feels so great. His brain releases these brilliant chemicals and he just feels oh so high. He's like a recharged battery and it's like he's taken an insanely fast rocket-ship to Mars and Jupiter and Saturn and the moon and back. He raced through the inside of the sun and didn't receive not one single burn.

The worry is long gone and he just feels so happy and joyful and oh so energetic. The sensation is almost too much to take in. He is_ unstoppable_.

John just closes his eyes for a few minutes, feeling like a whole new majestic world is opened up and everything is waiting to be discovered. He laughs and it sounds surreal. After a few minutes, the rush has faded a bit, and he gathers the objects on his bed, throwing them into his bedside drawer without a care. Oh he feels _great._ He feels so** great**. For a moment he thinks of what he wants. He thinks of what he really, really, really, really wants. He sighs with contentment, and grabs his mobile phone, selecting the 'new message' icon.

John is _great_. He is _marvelous_. He is just _brilliant_. He wonders if this is how Sherlock feels, so brilliant, and then he just laughs.

"Sherlock" he says out loud, his voice so wired with feeling. His first word since the night before.

How beautiful, because just at that moment, he hears Sherlock entering the flat. He drops his phone on the bed, and dashes towards the door. A bit of paranoia overtakes him. Sherlock can't know, he tells himself. He takes a deep breath, and brightly walks over to the sitting room.

Sherlock is taking off his coat, when he notices John staring at him, with eyes wide open.

"Jo-" he begins.

"Sherlock.. It was raining, I didn't notice, I was in my room, doing things. Normal things." John says, almost too quick to be casual. Johns hand twitches, and he pulls down on the bottom of his jumper.

Sherlock observes him strangely, and the sides of his lovely lips turn up a bit, smiling that little smile that John has learned to love oh so much. The 'John' smile.

"John. We've got a case! I've just received a text message from Lestrade." Sherlock cheers, and raises up his fists excitedly, like a kid opening presents on Christmas day.

"Yes! Oh my god. Sherlock let's go, I've been waiting for this!" John exclaims, leaving Sherlock unusually perplexed.

"A bit too excited?"

"That was rhetorical, I assume" John laughs, and reaches for Sherlocks hand, pulling him towards the door. Sherlock stops, and grabs his coat, alarmed. John leads out the door, and calls for a cab.

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Okie dokie... It was short, I know o-o Please tell me what you think!


	2. Being Serious

Hi! Sorry it's even shorter, it's been a while and I don't want to give this story up!

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**Chapter Two**

About three minutes later, inside the cab, Sherlock begins to worry. John's been repeatedly pulling down on the end of his jumper ever since they sat down. Is he hiding something physical? _Mental_?

John says Sherlocks name, and looks to his left, staring straight into Sherlocks eyes. That's when the consulting detective notices it. Notices them. Johns pupils are **blown**. Something inside him says that it's just his imagination, or that maybe Johns eyes are normally like that. But pupils don't normally enlarge like that. Not even in the dark.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?.. Is the case a single murder? Two murders?_ Three murders_? _Four_?!" John jumps with each advance of his sentence, each part sounding even more exciting and loud. His eyes glitter, and he pulls down on his jumper once more. Sherlock just stares in an odd fashion. Was John _high_? Somehow, Sherlock doesn't want to know. He doesn't want to face that probability. He doesn't want that.. pain.

It will hurt him. It will hurt him really bad, if John had in fact taken a drug. He has been through drugs and addiction, and he does not want John to have to go through all the same issues. Sherlock cares. For John, he cares for John. This is why he has to know.

"John, are you- "

"Okay? Excited? Smart? Good? Surprised? I'm great, thanks for asking. I know that I'm important to you, it's **great**. Sometimes, I think you want me. Do you **want** me, Sherlock? I know you do. I want you too. All of you. I would kiss your-"

"Stop this! Stop this now!" Sherlock yells, his heart pounding his chest strongly. _Not this_. Not like this. _What the hell is going on today_? The cabbie freaks out, and hits the breaks of the car harshly.

"Sherlo- "

"John, let's go." Sherlock commands, and hands the driver the money. Sherlock pulls John by the wrist abruptly, and gets him out of the cab.

Sherlock doesn't text Lestrade, he calls him, tells him that he and John cannot make it to the crime scene. Lestrade gets pissed. The case would have to wait. Sherlock was _not_ about to let this go.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing? We were suppose to have fun! The case, remember? The murders? Sherlock, please, lets go. Please." John begs, pulling down on his jumper once more. Sherlock simply stares at Johns dilated pupils. He stares at Johns shaky hands. John scratches his face.

The next couple of things happen very quickly.

Sherlock grabs John by the shoulders, and pushes him back towards an alley. He smacks him against the wall, and holds him back. John gasps, and pushes him off, only making Sherlock hold him harder against the wall. Sherlock grabs the doctors wrist with one hand, feeling for his pulse. Rapid. _Insanely rapid_.

"John" he says, rather calmly for the current scenario.

In that moment, John kicks his knee into Sherlocks stomach, causing the other man to stumble back. John grabs Sherlock, and pins him on the ground roughly. Sherlock struggles against Johns harsh grip on his wrists.

"What are you doing, Sherlock? What's going on? You're angry. Someone has upset you a great amount." John says, directly on top of Sherlock.

"John" Sherlock warns, and pushes at Johns chest with force, trying to get up from the dirty concrete. He fails.

"Sherlock, come on! Don't be such an ass. Serious!" John whines, and pushes harder on Sherlocks wrists.

"John you're hurting me."

"Sherlock, listen. Listen.. Listen, Sherlock.. Li-" John repeats the same words over and over, until Sherlock pushes up forcefully and gives him a serious look.

It's not the time for playing, it almost never was, especially not _now_. This was way out of control. Something that Sherlock truly did not like.

"What have you taken, John?" He questions. John looks puzzled for a few seconds, and all of a sudden, he wears a face of understanding.


End file.
